Of the line Facilier

The purple-haired fae approached the broken shop. Alone, for once. It had never been likely to see her around as herself, but she had never been seen in front of this specific shop, and for good reason. A sign with golden lettering proclaimed 'Felicia Facilier's Voodoo and Witchcraft Solutions. Est. 1996', and a murky light shone out through dirtied windows.

The door creaked open, welcoming the young woman in. A smaller, even dirtier sign on the door read 'NO KINGS OR QUEENS ALLOWED' in tiny letters. Green eyes caught on the plaque and the girl scoffed, brushing past the door and stepping into the dusty room. Another woman sat at the counter, mixing ingredients and ideas one and the same, odds and ends flying across the room. She was dark skinned, braids tight against her skull and piercings through skin and cartilage. Without looking up, she started talking.

'Didn't you read the sign, Your Grace?'

The purple-haired faerie- a queen- sighed. She threw her hood back and sat on one of the rickety chairs in the corner of the room, lips pursed and eyes wandering. 'I'm not here as a queen.'

Felicia Facilier crossed over to the woman and sat across from her, eyes piercing the wooden table. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again, and her breath smelled of whiskey and nicotine, 'Then what are you here as, Mal?' Mal sighed and turned away, looking everywhere except the shopkeeper.

'A daughter. A lover. A friend. A mother-to-be.'

Felicia's eyes shot up to meet the fae's, and she saw the honesty, the terror in them. A mother-to-be. There would only be one reason for Mal to come here if she was indeed expecting. There was only one reason women ever came to Felicia when they were expecting. And now a queen stood in front of her, asking her to perform the same task, and offering what was likely to be any form of payment, and any amount, if Felicia knew anything about Mal.

'You have a payment?' A standard question with what was sure to be an extraordinary answer. Not that Dr Facilier took anything less than extraordinary as a payment for this specific task, not when the service was so highly valued and so understaffed on the Isle of the Lost. Mal's lidded eyes stared up at her, calculating silently how much she wanted this service from Felicia. Eventually, she went with the diplomatic route, likely learned from her sister-wife. 'What would you ask?' Her skin was pale and shining, her body hunched in on itself, showing Felicia exactly how much this was worth to the fae creature.

'Ten years' service after your death.' That was the standard payment for the service Felicia was being asked to perform, but this was a fae. Mal would never be held down to service a lesser being, especially one that would not outlive her. She may have gotten herself knocked up, but the girl was generally smart. She knew ten years' service was a ten-year trap in a nightmarish realm of in-between.

'Five hundred thousand pieces of silver and immunity from any revenge anyone would ever want on you.'

Felicia's lips curled into a wicked grin, eyes dangerous and body calm, poised to strike. 'Now, Mal, you know I don't deal in something as ordinary as money. Favours, Mal. Secrets and promises and dreams and favours. That's what I deal in. If you have nothing of that value, please leave.' The queen's eyes widened and her fear shone through again, for just another second, before her whole face shut down. She'd made a decision.

'One favour from me- and only me. Not family or friends or allies or lovers. Just me. And the favour dies with me.' And there it was. Possibly the most valuable thing in Auradon or the Isle. A favour from a queen, a faerie, and a judge in the Iron Court.

'One unquestionable favour from you. And you have yourself a deal.' Mal's eyes shone for a second and she took Felicia's hand, grateful for the escape she'd been given. They shook hands and the deal was sealed, binding both of them to the agreement and the terms of voodoo. As soon as it happened, it was done, and Felicia started moving around the room, mixing a potion, grinding and biting and burning ingredients. Eventually, she handed Mal a tiny vial of a potion that glowed the brightest blue the faerie had ever seen in her life. She lifted the vial to her lips and downed everything in it without a second thought. Immediately, she collapsed to the floor, lights burning within her womb and her mouth open in an endless and silent scream.

Eventually, her body stilled and curled in on itself, trying to protect her from something that had already happened. Felicia pushed her into the corner of the room that held blankets and pillows for this exact reason, and once again cursed the Auradonians for making this her job, for making it so unsafe for women on the Isle- even Queens.

Mal hobbled slowly towards Maleficent's Palace, one arm holding her hood closer to her face to avoid recognition, the other curled around her abdomen, trying to hide the blood that soaked through the thin shirt she wore. She'd known what she risked when she left for Felicia's, but she'd never imagined the pain it would create, never imagined that she couldn't take it. She didn't know which pain was worse- the torture of surrendering a favour to an unknown or the loss of her unborn child. An arm silently slipped around her waist and she started, but when she looked she just saw Jay, silent and determined as always, helping and not hurting.

'You didn't think I'd let you go alone, my Queen?' He asked quietly, now supporting more of her weight than she was, 'You didn't think we'd figure it out? Evie's waiting at home with a hot bath and Carlos is taking all the cases for the next forty-eight hours. You've been sick for weeks and eaten nothing for the last three days. You haven't been dancing. We knew.'

And that was all it took for the previously strong Queen to collapse onto the man next to her, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground, if not for the fast reflexes Jay had developed while stealing. Then they both sunk slowly to the floor, Jay cradling Mal while she wept. Everyone was strong on the Isle, both mentally and physically, but this was one too many decisions to be asked to make, even if it was the right one.

'I will punish them for making you into this,' the King swore to his Queen while he held her shaking body on the stone roads of the Isle of the Lost, 'and you will see that you are the strongest of them all.'